Leverage Dance Company
by Partly
Summary: It's a masterful performance.


The silence of the empty office building shrouded the dim, flickering lights of the 27th floor as heavy curtains flanked a lit stage; anticipation and tension seeped into the air. The performance was about to begin. Every move had been choreographed, every act planed out. Nathan Ford stood, poised; a panel of monitors glowed off to his left, but his attention was focused on brightly lit building across the street. He watched the gathering through binoculars, searching the players for his leading lady.

She came in stage left, gliding across the floor with the grace and skill of the diva she was. Even without a spotlight Sophie was clearly the center of attention from the moment she entered.

"Sophie, you're on. We need the pass code and to clone his phone." He glanced at his watch. "We only have three minute."

"Not a problem," Sophie's voice drifted seductively into his ear. "I've got this."

Nate never tired of watching her work. The steps were so practiced that they looked spontaneous. It may take two to tango but when Sophie Devereaux took the lead, it didn't matter who her partner was. The tilt of her head, the fluid movements of her steps, the musical lilt of her voice and laughter—the dance was done so effortlessly, so beautifully, no one was aware there was even a performance going on. There was a give and a take, a lead and a retreat, a twirl at the end, and Sophie was done.

"It's all yours." The words whispered in Nate's ear. He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, and turned to his left.

Alec Hardison was set to take center stage, the glow of the monitors before him providing all the lighting he needed to perform. His fingers danced over the keys, a unique mixture of tap and jazz and soft-shoe all done to an electronic beat only he could hear. Where Sophie was all passion and emotion, Hardison was precision and technology, but coated with a flair that marked him as the virtuoso he was.

Nate didn't even pretend to know what Hardison was doing, but the beauty of how stylishly it was being done more than made up for it. Code flickered across the screens, reflecting on Hardison, partners in a technical dance never failed to bring the house down. A musical trill marked the end of his performance, and he spun to face Nate. "And the geeks rule again, baby." He grinned. "Parker's got what she needs." Nate was reminded of a vaudeville act, self-deprecating and arrogant in the same moment. "

Nate nodded and watched the monitors change to infrared views of the roof and 20th floor of the building Sophie was in. Parker's lithe form sprinted across the roof, pirouetted on the edge, then dove over the side, all grace and power. The rope and harness guided her fall, and she ended in a Grande Jete, right by the window to office she needed. Nate marveled at how fearlessly she threw herself into the movements, everything so natural she didn't even realize she was the prima ballerina she was. It took less than a minute to cut through the glass, and only another ninety seconds to crack to the safe. Every movement was precise and controlled, fluid and arabesque.

"Got it, Nate," her voice echoed through Nate's earpiece as he watched her close the safe again. "Am I going out hot?"

"Unfortunately," Nate said. "The alarms will trigger once you're more than two floors away. Hardison will keep the elevators going and Eliot will meet you in the basement." Even the greatest choreographer was limited by the script he needed to follow and the stage he had to work with. "Sophie's already out. You've got five minutes to get free once the alarm sounds."

Hardison redirected the monitors once more and Eliot appeared, leaning nonchalantly against a cement wall. He didn't move when the klaxon rang or when the lights flickered, but when five security thugs dashed into view, he pushed off and stepped in front of them. Every move was exact; from the way he tilted his head to how he moved his hair out of his eyes. No one moved for a moment. Nate could almost feel the warning signs that radiated off of Eliot despite how still he held himself. Then the elevator dinged and one of the thugs went for his gun. Eliot exploded into motion—martial arts set to a hip-hop beat, all bass and drums. It was the type of performance that needed to be recorded and played back in slow motion so that every move could be suitably appreciated. Eliot spun and dropped, hit and dodged, too fast to follow except by the bodies left on the floor in his wake. By the time the elevator doors opened completely and Parker stepped out, Eliot stood alone, with the same poised stillness that he had before his performance. Then he flicked his hair back again, looking at Parker. "Let's go," his voice as rough and raw as his actions.

Nate watched as they sprinted out the side door then walked away from the monitors, pleased with his team performance. Each one of his crew was unique and independent, so strong and so contained that it was a strain to keep them working as one. And yet, when he did manage to pull it off, it resulted in perfection that even he couldn't have believed possible. It was a work of art, a dance of unbelievable beauty. It was a shame that, when done right, no one would ever know they saw it.


End file.
